Enclosed
by INMH
Summary: Merritt is not a fan of escape-artistry.


Enclosed

**Rating:** PG-13/T

**Genre:** Drama/General

**Summary:** Merritt is not a fan of escape-artistry.

**Author's Note:** I really want to write more for this fandom (she said for the five-hundredth time in the five-hundredth fandom).  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own Now You See Me. It belongs to Summit Entertainment.

[-]

The top shuts, and Merritt's world goes dark.

The first few seconds in the box aren't bad; it's only for a few minutes, he thinks, it's useful to have everyone in the group have some experience with escape artistry and small containers are part of the territory, he knows.

It's fine. It's good. It's all good.

After the first minute or two, though, it becomes less good.

The closeness of the box's walls are getting more and more obvious. They're too close. Too near. His ability to move is limited, and the longer he tries to force himself to stay still the more he has a desire to move, and if he moves he knows he will encounter resistance.

_Keep it cool_, Merritt tells himself, shutting his eyes. _Keep it cool. You step out of this box in a sweat and those brats will never let you hear the end of it._

It's purely an endurance test. He only needs to make it ten minutes. There's more than enough air to keep him alive in that time. He will get out. He will be able to move again. Just not right now. His threshold for patience is neither impressive nor is it undersized. He can manage. He can make it.

More time passes, and his anxiety is rising.

Shit, shit, how does Henley _do_ this? She gets into small places wrapped in chains and cuffs and duct-tape all the time and she does it without flinching. How many years did it take to perfect that contentment with the act of being trapped?

Merritt didn't sign up for this. He was a mentalist, damn it, not an escape artist. This was not his forte. This was like throwing a bird into the water and expecting it to doggy-paddle.

_But you did sign up for this, dumbass. When you agreed to go on the merry year-long trust exercise with the Eye, you agreed to do what you had to. And right now, you have to prove that you can handle being in small places for an extended amount of time._

Did ten minutes count as extended? Probably not to most, but who gave a damn? To Merritt it was quickly becoming too long.

More time passes, and irrational fear begins to seep in. Would they be able to get the box open? Probably. Hopefully. Logic said that they would get it open eventually, they weren't stupid, especially not Henley who had been through probably every escape-artist trick in the book and probably knew what to do and who to call if necessary. It was fine. He'd be fine.

The idea of being pried out of the box by a bunch of firemen is not so appealing, but he can live with that.

If it comes to that.

Which it won't.

Is it time to open the box yet? It feels like more than enough time has passed. He drums his fingers on the wall but tries to do it quietly enough that they can't hear him outside. His legs are folded, and the cramping is starting to get irritating. The urge to stretch them out is bordering on frantic.

_Breathe, asshole_, because his breathing is getting very fast and very shallow and okay, ding ding ding, we're done here, _he's_ done, he needs to get out of this damn box right fucking now or he's going to throw a full-blown fit and it is _not_ going to be pretty.

_Don't freak out, Christ, they're gonna let you out, they're gonna let you out-_

_(Unless of course they're assholes __**(they are)**__ and decide to let you sweat a little while longer because wouldn't that be hilarious, "Ha ha ha Merritt you thought we weren't going to let you-!")_

The top flips open and he pops up like some kind of hellish jack-in-the-box and nearly topples the damn thing over as he tries to get out. It's Henley who's freed him, and Danny who's sprung backwards to accommodate him, hands up and chuckling slightly, the beginnings of one of _those_ smirks on his face.

"Wow Merritt, really not liking the-?"

His nerves are so frayed and he is so _done_ with being sober today that where Merritt would usually just flip Danny off and keep walking, he grabs the younger man by the front of the shirt and yanks him forward sharply. There's a savage satisfaction in seeing the flash of panic that crosses Danny's face as he considers that yes, maybe he's gone too far with his jackass attitude, maybe he should have dedicated half a brain-cell to realizing that pushing Merritt might not have been the best idea-

"Merritt," Jack dares to pipe up from somewhere to their left, sounding nervous.

Merritt glares at him, their faces less than an inch apart. "Shut. Your fucking. Mouth."

He lets him go (more like shoves him away) and keeps walking.

When the time comes to hide in the cart that's transporting the money to the Crédit Républicain, Merritt decides to leave the open spot next to Henley to Danny.

-End


End file.
